


Kit

by DarkShadeless



Series: Past, Present, Future [4]
Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Legends: The Old Republic (Video Game)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fix-It, Gen, Slavery, Time Travel, and behavior, and dealing with that, and how other people see that, any side of the Gordian Reach, being possessed, by which i mean everybody BUT Kit, he is the biggest troll this side of the Gordian Reach, he tries, hey if the Force screws you over, jedi being dicks, more or less badly, stranded in an alternate timeline, the Sith way, the... semi-Sith way, you can at least get some kicks out of it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-17
Updated: 2019-05-17
Packaged: 2020-02-29 18:42:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,162
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18783955
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DarkShadeless/pseuds/DarkShadeless
Summary: The adventures of Kit, fugitive, smuggler extraordinaire and part-time hero.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After the events on Zakuul, Kit starts to slowly put himself back together.
> 
> Chapter warnings (as mentioned in the tags but I'd rather say it twice): slavery, a character talking to someone other people can't see and how /they/ see that

 

 

Adrift like never before, Kit moves at a pace that’s more akin to crawling. He jumps from system to system, keeping to the fringes. Despite his lack of drive he has no desire to be caught. One stint in carbonite was more than enough.

The Cold War is in full swing, throwing the galaxy into turmoil but the lid is still on.

Rumor has it the power structure of the Sith Empire has recently imploded. The Emperor has disappeared.

_Not that he wasn’t absent before._

They’ll pull through. They have before. If all else fails Kit doesn’t doubt Darth Marr will press his fellows into service to the greater picture with an iron fist and the tact of a ticked-off rancor. He was always good for that.

The knight hasn’t been able to ascertain whether he exists in this place, if there are two of him running around and he was on the verge of becoming Wrath, when the Emperor bit it.

Baras had him operating under the radar, once upon a time, and if that isn’t the case, if he disappeared off Korriban that wouldn’t have made any waves. Just another lost acolyte.

The possibility that he is the only one, that no one else follows the path he once took, has him count out the days, in an attempt to match them to memory. He can't go back, he can't even fathom trying to twist himself into fitting a mould that once was his life but there are things he wants to do, wants to- to fix. If he can.

Tatooine calls to him first. He can't share with her what they had in another life but hopefully he can do this much. Vette deserves everything he can give her, wherever she may be.

 _'What a hellhole_. _Why are we here again, Outlander?'_

Vaylin’s derision makes him grin. “Because it’s lovely in summer.”

That’s utter bantha shit, of course. Kit says it for the face she’ll make.

He’s starting to get used to her company. Maybe that should be a bad thing. She’s caustic, at best. If he really wanted to he could likely exorcise her, as he did her father but… she hasn’t tried to take him over yet.

Some company is better than none.

 

_She comes from the same place he did. They share that, much as they were enemies. They‘re all that’s left._

Kit breathes in the dry air and sighs. It feels a little like coming home. “I’ve always loved this planet.”

_'You’re insane.'_

The local who walks by close enough to catch what he is saying seems to agree with her. They hurry along with wide eyes.

Kit hums, amused. He shouldn’t get into the habit of talking to people no one else can see but it’s such an easy one. What will it matter, anyhow?

 

It isn’t far. Whuddle the Hutt isn’t a bigshot. A no-name slug with a few animal pens to call his own.

And slaves.

A life is worth less than dirt, out here. Especially if it belongs to someone getting on in years.

She’s working in the merciless glare of the twin suns, dragging stones, when Kit gets to the site. No telling how long she has been at it. Since she started and until she’ll finish, or dies. That’s the way of things.

He knows which one it will be.

The overseer is shifting impatiently beside him. “So?”

“Put that one aside. I want her.”

“Gonna have ta talk that out with the master.”

“Don’t worry, I will.”

 

 

Whuddle dies in a firefight that day, killed by a displeased customer. How the son of a chubba manages to take out his guards is a mystery but who gives a kark. What’s left of his possessions is redistributed by time honored tradition: to whomever loots it first. Shame that the transmitters got ruined but those slaves were the least of the lot.

Mos Ila moves on.

If one of the run-aways disappears on a freighter no one cares.

 

* * *

 

Diida doesn’t know what to make of her new master. His ship is scrap and he talks to himself.

It could be worse. He’s not cruel, so far, just… odd.

It’s not her place to question the master’s habits.

She’s not worth much, only as much as her work can be sold for and she’s old. For a Twi’lek, anyway. Diida can be glad he decided to throw away his credits buying her when Master Whuddle was about to put her out to pasture. That’s what she tells herself.

Everyone knows what it means when you’re told to fix the animal pens during the lunch hours.

She can still feel the suns burn down on her lekku.

Her hands are idle. It makes her nervous. But there is no work. When she asks she is told to rest, to drink some water.

_Water. When was the last time she had access to it freely?_

Her master is tinkering with the sparking converters in her stead, grumbling under his breath.

“This goes here… I know what I’m doing, shush, you’re not helping. Do you want me to blow us up?”

Diida hasn’t said a thing. She drinks her water and keeps her mouth shut.

 

* * *

 

The converters don’t explode, they don’t die and her master keeps getting odder.

As far as Diida can tell they’re on a round trip to all the worst planets in the galaxy. Because the master _likes_ them.

Maybe he bought her as a souvenir. From _Tatooine_.

Maybe he’ll find another slave here. Suns as her witness, she has no idea.

She can’t say how he is still _alive._ Diida has taken over cooking, because if she hadn’t he would have poisoned them both. There was oil in his last attempt at soup and not the edible kind.

What does anyone even do on Hoth? What does anyone do on _Tatooine?_ Apart from die of thirst and exposure?

They’ve picked up some cargo, terrible rations at a laughable price, that master Kit is talking an exasperated official into buying. It’s telling that the woman actually bites. They must be starving down there.

Or it could be the hint that he could find another buyer that does it. Little mystery whom that would be, with the Empire and the Republic vying for control of the system.

Him taking off her collar in transit starts to make sense. Slavery is outlawed in the Republic. He can’t be seen at one of their outposts with a slave in tow.

_If she told someone- If she ran-_

_She’ll be punished. She knows what happens to slaves who try to escape._

They land a little ways off of the base they’re trading at. The ramp lowers with a creak, wind howling inside as soon as it finds the smallest opening. There’s nothing but white wherever she looks.

_Where would she even go?_

Master Kit looks out over the icy planes with something that might be fondness.

Maybe he came here as a child. Maybe his parents were as crazy as he is and _liked_ this place.

At this point Diida would believe that unchecked. She would believe a lot of things.

Her master looks over his packs and speeder with a practiced eye. “Well, I’ll be off. You’ve got everything you need, right? I’ll be gone a while.”

She nods, because it is habit, as well as true. She’s not looking forward to being alone while he conducts his business, with nothing but the temptation of hacking the ship console. _Could she crack it? Would he catch her if she tried? Of course he would. She should be grateful he’s treating her well. The worst of it have been his efforts to keep them fed._

“Good.” Like an afterthought, like one of the conversations he needs no partner for, he adds. “Don’t worry, you’ll see your daughters soon.”

 

Master Kit disappears into the snow flurries as if he hasn’t shattered her in a single sentence. Only when she threatens to catch frostbite Diida can make herself close the hatch.

He’ll return. He will.

Perhaps then she will find out why he has come along to turn her life on its head just as she thought it would find its end.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ... why are most of my OCs terrible cooks.  
> I'm pretty sure Kit CAN cook. Kinda. Somewhat. He... might be out practice. The recipe said oil, okay!


	2. Chapter 2

 

 

The secret to staying under the radar, Kit has found, is to act as if he is _exactly_ where he should be.

_Which, actually, explains **so much** about Theron._

It’s even true. From a certain point of view. Where else would a smuggler be, after successfully peddling utter garbage to the local troops?

The cantina is about as well stocked as can be expected but it still has alcohol. He doesn’t ask what they distilled it from, just like no one questioned where he got his cargo.

Quid pro quo, and all that.

_'This place is disgusting.'_

Kit chuckles into his drink. “Wait until you see Nar Shaddaa. You’ll _love_ it.”

Vaylin’s shade disappears from his view with a sound that’s pure offense. It lightens his mood, as always.

He settles in for the long haul. Gossip is the life blood of any outpost, especially one this isolated and if there is anything that makes a good story? It’s a Jedi Master coming through.

 

* * *

 

“So...”

“Yes?”

“You’re here to… go spelunking?”

Sewlor doesn’t dignify that blatant grab for information with an answer. He keeps walking.

“No? Okay. Ice Cat watching? They’re really active this time of the year.”

He has noticed. One of the monsters, taller than a grown human at the shoulder, pounced them not an hour ago. He had to bury his lightsaber in its gut and still it kept thrashing until Kit shot it in the head. Twice. _People come to watch those things? Do they have a death wish?_

“You’re missing out. They’re majestic, romping around in the ice fields and stalking Tauntaun. It’s great to get in tune with nature! And to get some Jagannath points too.”

_What the kriff is a Jagannath point?_

The Jedi isn’t stupid enough to ask. That lesson got driven home by an excursion into the joys of ice fishing.

Force help him, his companion’s enthusiasm doesn’t even sound _fake_. Or he is a really, really good liar. Sewlor can’t, for the life of him, figure out what the man would get out of it, though. Unless he sells tours on the side.

Who would take a tour of Hoth? Even if there is more to be done here than he ever thought there might be. Going by the word of his guide, at least.

If he had any other choice, if there had been _anyone else_ with the slightest hint of where his Master had gone and the competency to see him on the way, he wouldn’t have touched Kit’s offer of help ( _And so cheap! A great deal, just today._ ) with a lightstaff.

But there wasn’t anyone else and he didn’t have a choice, or the time to look for better options.

A local who knows his way around is an invaluable asset. Sewlor would have stumbled into two Imperial patrols and a Wampa nest by now without the man cheerfully grabbing him by the scruff of the neck and pulling him out of the way of danger. It made him feel like a flailing youngling but at least every credit he paid seems well spent.  

Granted, he might have sensed all of it in time. It was… better… that he didn’t have to.

Even if it comes with more chatter than he is used to dealing with.

But with every step, every minute that the radio silence lasts, Sewlor feels worse about his decision to involve Kit, possible criminal history or not, and not only because of how excitable the man is. He has no idea what he is going to find at the end of his search.

So far it has been fruitless. They left the camp behind after it became clear that they were being hunted for a clan matter, the troops retreating to the safety of the nearby base. Better for them to wait there, no matter what Master Xerender had ordered.

It made no sense to freeze their arse off with the local wildlife out to eat them once they knew their commander had taken off for the Graveyard.

That was leagues away from their last position. A distance they would never make, especially with the personal problems of the unit hanging over their mission.

Sewlor opted to set out with the only ally that wouldn’t bring Broonmark down on him where there is no backup to be had.

There are few places more remote than the outer reaches of this ice ball. No one to hear you scream, or answer your distress call.

Before them the mountain pass reaches its highest point. The land dips into a wide plane, broken starships jutting out of it like the teeth of a sleeping giant. Sunlight glints off the snow in near blinding intensity.

Only Kit’s narrative of Hoth’s many, _many_ upsides breaks the eternal silence of a world frozen in time. A place where even machines come to die.

It's possible Sewlor is more grateful that he doesn’t have to make the trek alone than he wants to admit.

 

* * *

 

Two days later, after battling his way through what felt like an entire pirate crew with a bloodthirsty, sociopathic Talz to crown their efforts, after facing his master’s uncaring abandonment of his men because they _would only slow him down_ , the abandonment of _Sewlor_ for the same reason, because Xerender didn’t care about anything but his own master’s voice calling to him, after a glacier that almost landed on top of him to lock him in with his master and grandmaster both…

Sewlor finds himself sitting in the snow, numb down to his bones, staring at the man that dragged him from that cave when he didn’t have the strength to do it himself. He can’t decide if he should thank him or not.

“Come on, we need to keep moving. You’re going to freeze solid.”

Absently, Sewlor takes the offered hand. Kit pulls him to his feet and tows him along until he is walking on his own.

His head is so quiet. He's pretty sure his bond to his Master broke before the end but he can’t tell when. Suddenly, Sewlor is shivering with more than the cold. He should feel… something, shouldn’t he?

Kit glances back, mouth working silently. The padawan half expects him to spout a line about the wonders of some hole in the ground _just_ _a mile south and totally worth it, I swear. It will take your mind right off your worries!_

Instead the man looks past him at the caved-in wreck, uncharacteristically serious. “Sorry, about that. Wish that could’ve gone another way.”

_Yeah, I do too._

He had- He cared about Master Xerender so much. Sewlor knew it was wrong, that it was attachment but… he did. He thought their bond would mean something to his teacher, too.

Apparently it hadn’t.

Neither of them says anything more, for the longest time.

He sets one foot in front of the other, snow crunching under his steps, replaying what happened in his head. He can’t see what he might have done differently. What he might have said to make his master listen.

But there is something else that pulls at Sewlor in hindsight.

“You’re Force-sensitive.”

Kit, unremarkable in the ratty garb of a second-rate smuggler, no better than the pirates they fought, hums in acknowledgement. He looks perfectly at home in the icy cold with his breath misting in front of his face.

They went days without a proper source of warmth. _Sewlor_ had been worried if he would catch hypothermia and start losing fingers but Kit’s enthusiasm didn’t flag until a literal mountain came down on them.

_How did I miss that?_

“You’re not a Jedi.” That much is pretty obvious.

“No.”

“Are you… Are you Sith?” Aren’t Sith supposed to be… not like this, at any rate.

Sewlor isn’t sure what he will do if the answer is yes. There is little to keep him together, adrift as he is with his ties cut so violently. He's so empty inside. What is one more betrayal?

“I used to be.”

The padawan lets that settle, turns it over in his mind, slowly. “I didn’t think you could stop being that.”

Almost like one of the philosophical debates at the Temple. _Is a fish still a fish if it learns to fly?_

“You can become something else, I’ve found. Change is a funny thing.”

“What are you, then?”

His guide stops to glance at him over his shoulder and his smile strikes Sewlor to the core. There’s a weight to him in the Force, light or dark, he cannot tell. In the bright, cold sun of Hoth Kit looks like a Jedi Master watching an initiate fumble their way to wisdom. “I’ll get back to you when I figure that out.”

His words resonate with something that has come lose inside of Sewlor’s chest. His next breath comes easier. Nothing has been fixed, he still feels a wrong word away from breaking to pieces but… maybe he doesn’t have to find answers, right now.

A Jedi should put it all aside, should let it go. Sewlor can’t find the strength for it but maybe that is alright.

It’s a long walk back.

 

“You know, if you need a ride off this rock there’s space on my ship.”

“I thought you love this place.”

“Just between the two of us, I think I remember now why I swore I’d never come back after last time.”

 

* * *

 

When Master Kit returns with a _Jedi_ and a juvenile nerf in tow, Diida does not comment. She makes dinner.

Dinner Master Kit is not allowed to touch until it is _finished_.

_It’s not made of his new pet. He looks so betrayed when she asks it’s almost funny._

 

 


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm still so proud of getting Timmns that tag like you have no idea. I did that. My baby. :')  
> (On the downside my own stories are like 75% of those that feature him and I am eternally thirsty for new content. Hng.)

 

 

Drumming up Tivva goes about as well as Kit thought it would. She’s distrustful and prickly, leery of accepting any form of help. He expected no less.

She asks the questions her mother hasn’t, too.

“Why are you doing this?”

It’s hard, to dredge up an answer, not least because it has to be believable. The rest? That’s all heartache bound up in loss he can’t explain. “I… owe your sister a debt.”

Diida looks up from where she is pretending to be very busy, nervously counting credits that belong to her daughter now. And to her. There’s a desperate hope in her that he hates to disappoint. “My Ce’na? You met her?”

Kit sighs. “I’m sorry, I have no idea where she is. That’s, well, that’s why.” Selfishness will be accepted. It will be understood. “I can’t get a hold of her to pay her back, so this’ll have to do.”

Tivva leans back in her seat, arms crossed, and scoffs. Disbelief is written large in the slant of her lekku. “Must be one hell of a thing she did for you.”

He doesn’t twitch at the implied innuendo. It’s close. “She saved my life.”

_More than once. She was my friend, my best friend, through everything. My only friend, sometimes. She never let me down. I’d give her the galaxy if I could, if she wanted it. In a heartbeat._

“I hear she calls herself Vette these days. Runs with a crew out of the space port over by the Corellian sector, stealing back artefacts people took from Ryloth over the years. Maybe you’ll have more luck than I did.”

‘Since you’re not an outsider’ passes between them unsaid. Finally, Tivva nods, mouth set in a hard slant. “Thank you, I guess. Don’t think this means we owe you anything.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it.”

 

Saying their goodbyes drags out a bit longer than that and for the strangest reasons.

Half-out of Kit’s hearing range, Diida takes his not-quite-student to task. “And don’t you let Master Kit at the stove. He’ll blow up the ship!”

Sewlor looks more than a little out of his depth. “I’m sure it’s not so bad?”

“We had to space his last meal! It was _eating through the pot_!”

He has to defend his honor at _some_ point, honestly. “That was perfectly edible before you used the extinguisher on it, you know.”

“It was on _fire_!”

“I still say that means it was well-done.”

 

 

“You’re not going to let me cook, are you?”

“Not on your life.”

Well, at least some outcomes Kit can rely on, no matter how he arrives there.

 

* * *

 

The former, if not really reformed, Sith Lord-turned-smuggler Sewlor is chartering a ride with is one of the strangest people he has met. There’s no plan he can figure out to what the man is doing and why.

They jump from system to system, sometimes from one end of the galaxy to the other, and… get into trouble. That seems the one constant. Utter pandemonium finds them, or they find _it,_ while Kit claims innocence the whole way.

Sewlor doesn’t believe a word of it.

If it _is_ true and his maybe-possibly-friend just happens to stumble into one disaster after the next he has to be the person with the worst luck to ever exist.

Or the best. They do always come out at the other end of whatever catastrophe is intent to swallow them that day with little to show for the adventure but a few dents in the hull of the _Undaunted_.

By the time they’re in orbit over Belsavis, the notorious and _top-secret_ prison planet of the Republic, Sewlor is mostly resigned to his fate.

Someone has to make sure Kit doesn’t get himself shot while selling people their own boots.

There are worse occupations in the galaxy. Probably.

His time with the Jedi Order, for all that it spanned the better part of his life, is a distant memory. Unreal, somehow.

Sewlor misses it. He doesn’t. He can’t think of it without emotion rising in him until it threatens to choke him. _Does he want to return? Could he bear it? Would they take him back?_

Even before Master Xerender threw him aside to go on a quest to Hoth there had been… moments. A Jedi shouldn’t doubt, he should be steadfast in the face of adversary. Do what is right.

Only ‘what is right’ quickly became muddled in the eddies of war. Sewlor doesn’t think he wanted to be a soldier, when he looked up to the Jedi Masters of old as a youngling. But isn’t that what he became? What they all became?

_Is it arrogant to think their Order might have lost its way?_

Maybe it’s a good thing worrying over this ridiculous scoundrel is a full-time job.

It doesn’t leave much time to brood.

 

_Kit does it too. In the dead of the night cycle Sewlor will catch him still up, bent over the navigational charts at the ship console, so lost in his head he doesn’t notice he’s not the only one awake._

_He looks old, then, older than his years._

_It makes Sewlor wonder how much of his good humor is a mask, a distraction from the deep lines and melancholy that stand stark on his face, where no one will see._

_Wisdom, he thinks, comes with a price tag. How much has Kit paid for the light that shines from within him? For that warmth and kindness he shares with those who need it, that draws Sewlor like a moth to flame?_

_He does him the courtesy not to ask. It’s not like he can stand to talk about his own troubles, either._

On Belsavis they end up _bounty hunting_ , because of course they do. An Imperial incursion has set loose prisoners from the deepest reaches of the facility and the Republic needs all hands on deck. Even if those hands came to swindle them out of their credits.

A blaster is a blaster. Point it in the right direction and you’ll get paid.

Sewlor grits his teeth and plays along. There’s a sharpness in Kit’s smile that tells him he might not be the only one on edge.

_But then why are they doing this?_

 

A Jedi Master trapped in a data hub neatly answers that question, while throwing up more than a few new and very uncomfortable ones.

 _Is this why we are here?_ Did Kit know this would happen? Are their fool’s errands all part of something Sewlor can’t grasp? Who or what are they working for?

There’s no time to put the thumbscrews on his slippery companion, especially not under Master Timmns’ watchful eyes.

The master had masked his surprise well but Sewlor had still felt it. He has grown more aware under Kit’s haphazard instruction, more attune with the currents of the Force. How much he realizes only when he reads the Mirialan’s unease aimed in his direction as he would an unlocked data pad.

“Sewlor. I will admit that this is unexpected.”

_Not only for you._

The Jedi forges on despite the lack of response. “Your unit reported you lost in action. We’ve been looking for you.”

“Because I was the last person to see Master Xerender alive, right?” The bitterness of the statement surprises even Sewlor himself.

Master Timmns comes up short, visibly unsettled. “That’s-“

“True.” It’s about to be dressed up in pretty words, in duty and necessity but it’s there, in every wisp of the Jedi Master’s presence. “He’s gone, you know. You won’t recover him.”

Taking a deep breath, the Jedi changes tracks. “And I see you found a new teacher.” His eyes flicker to where Kit is prodding what looks like a piece of a power converter. He must have grabbed it earlier. That man has the stickiest fingers Sewlor has ever encountered.

As they watch he fumbles, overbalances in his attempt to catch the piece of circuitry before it gives away their position to all and sundry and almost falls flat on his face.

Timmns scrutiny dissolves into the same disbelieving fascination Sewlor himself once felt at the thought of this person surviving long enough on Hoth to become a walking reference guide to its ‘treasures’.

The padawan ( _Is he still?_ ) can _see_ the idea that Kit might be dangerous, that he might be corrupting him, falling in likelihood in Timmns assessment of the situation. It goes a way to prove a pet-theory of his.

_The clumsiness is an act. It has to be._

… probably. He’ll need more data points. In the meantime he has a nosy Jedi to deal with.

“However did you meet your… friend?”

"That's a really long story, Master." _And you won't hear half of it._

 

* * *

 

Kit cheerfully elbows his way into Timmns’ mission, only to abandon him as soon as he agrees to take them along because they ‘have an appointment to keep’.

“Don’t worry, we’ll catch up.”

“Right.” The faint twitch of the Mirialan’s brow that has developed during the last hours is a treat Sewlor will not soon forget. “I’ll see you then.”

“Sure will!”

They don’t, to Sewlor’s knowledge, actually have an appointment. With what would you make one out here? The primal beasts that seem intent on tearing them to pieces?

_Maybe he wants to take one of them home._

Dear Force, please let that not be it. The nerf is bad enough and it’s tiny.

 

_It keeps eating his socks. Kit claims that means it likes him._

_That’s a brazen lie. It’s waiting to see how much it can get away with at Sewlor’s expense._

_He’s wise to its tricks. It’s as bad as its owner._

 

Everything is fine, or more or less fine, until they reach the inner vaults. If you can call it ‘fine’ to find out that the Republic apparently took a Cathar royal hostage and put him on ice to prevent him from discouraging his people from joining the fold.

Sewlor wonders if the Jedi knew about that, if they were involved. It’s unsettling that he can’t be sure either way.

Then they cross under a stone arch, as if stepping over a threshold in a holo-novel, and snowy mountains give way to jungle. It might be beautiful if the darkness permeating it didn’t hit Sewlor like a slap to the face.

He stumbles back, right into his friend who catches him before he can fall. “Easy there.”

_How can he be so calm? Doesn’t he feel it?_

How could he not? Its terror made manifest, sunk into the earth and dragging at his very being. Sewlor grasps for words, shaking like a leaf.

The expression on Kit’s face stops him short. There’s no spark of laughter, no teasing. Just grim determination. “You can wait here, if you want.”

_Timmns isn’t why we’re here. This is._

The thought is a little far away.

If Sewlor had any sense he would take that offer. He would bow out and let his master handle it, who knows what he is doing.

In the last months few things have been certain. He’s still not sure who he is if he isn’t a Jedi, hasn’t figured it all out, but there are two points of reference that start to crystalize into absolutes he can rely on.

One of them is that he has no sense at all. The other… “And leave you on your own? In your _dreams_.”

He sounds about as sure as he feels but it’s worth it to catch Kit by surprise, watch his well-hidden strength crack and get a glimpse at what it shields.

Sewlor has no doubt he’d carry what has brought them here, what brings them anywhere, alone but he doesn’t have to. He’ll make sure of it.

 

The less is said about the Dread Masters, the better. Let them rest in peace and be forgotten.

 

* * *

 

“You know what we should do? We should go to Voss.”

“Let me guess, it’s nice this time of the year.”

“Eh, not particularly. But I hear there are nerfs!”

Somehow, when the search for said mysterious nerfs lands them first in the middle of a _vision quest_ to stop a _civil war_ and then up to the knee in a place called the _Nightmare Lands_ Sewlor isn’t the least bit surprised.

The nerfs actually exist and they do find them. The damned things are tainted, near-demonic entities, living off thorn-studded vines. Kit adopts an abandoned calf the second he lays eyes on it and coos over it all the way back to the ship.

Sewlor honestly can’t tell if that was the aim of the venture and postponing galaxy-wide annihilation by the horror kept locked up in the heart of the planet a fortunate accident.

It’s bloody ridiculous.

If he wakes to find that creature feasting on his clothes while he’s still wearing them he reserves the right to butcher it and serve it for lunch.

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Kit's quest log:
> 
> Mainquest: Acquire pet :D
> 
> Sidequests: Save the galaxy I guess...


End file.
